RhythmStuck
by Silver in Our Lungs
Summary: Dave meets John and hates him immediately, and not in the romantic way. He hates the way John talks, the way he makes the beat stop, and the way he sets the butterflies in Dave's stomach alight...Highschool, AU.
1. Activate Subsonic Bass

Rhythm

The syncopated caws of the raucous crows outside your bedroom window, the low bass of cars passing on the street below, the tuneless song of rain pounding porcelain in your shower, the paradiddle your friend Rose taps out nervously with a spit-shined oxford, the periodical humphsyour foster-mom sighs out while watching the news- you could go on. The beats swarm in your head, and the orchestra gears up, each and every morning, ready to play out the symphony; and, through it all, the back-beat of your heart doing it's thing and _thu-thumping _away.

All day every day.

And fuck, if you aren't annoyed by it. The sound of your heart, that is. You think it's because it muffles the other beats, tries to monopolize the songs and drown out the orchestra; it's just plain selfish, the sound of you heart.

Rose's looking at you, the nervous beat paused, as she looks, no, kinda stares as you walk into the room. Her beat itself isn't nervous, but the beat she creates around her is. You try not to listen too closely to Rose's _real_ beat. It's fuckin grimdark, and you think it'll make your ears bleed 'cause some shit ain't meant to be heard.

The rhythm of your world skips and scratches for a second, like someone sorta jiggled the player and the needle hopped up for a second, before resuming it's complicated beat.

You deadpan something about there being a 'Disturbance in the Force'. And damn, if that wasn't so ironic it would be lame _afff_. But it's actually not that ironic, because truthfully you really _did_ feel something shift in the main beat. But you meant it sarcastically- and honestly, this personality you have

(Created)

can be hard to keep up, with all the sweet, sweet irony and shit.

You eat poptarts for breakfast. Listen to the morning beats you've heard a million times before, a song that's been playing itself over and over for as long as you can remember.

You do trig on the bus, listen to the hustle-bustle-bugaloo your classmates make. The rhythm is a quick-time-shuffle of blown glass, hard and fragile like the teens that make it's backbone.

You space in first period, letting the void left by your conscious brain fill with aggressive horns and sickly-sweet viola's and deep, resonant basses that sounded like slow-poured honey or deep sea fish.

You don't know if it's because you're naturally melancholy, or almost theatrically unimaginative, but you've always liked the bass the best. To you it's the slick undercurrent of all rhythms, the dark spines that hold every song together.

And suddenly you're snapping our of a haze that you've, honestly, been in all morning, as someone jiggles the player. Jiggles it quite a bit, so hard that you force the needle back onto the player, dislike the silence to which even your own selfish beat relented to.

It's a new kid. And he hasn't just stopped the beat.

He _is _the stop beat.

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><p><strong>AN: Subsonic is this fyy song by Excision. It's hardcore dubstep, so if you dig that, check it out. So this will be a multi-chaptered fic. Personality wise, I've got a more vulnerable Dave, a less derpy Egbert, an angrier Jade, and a less intrusive Rose. I'd like to think that this makes the characters a bit more believable, but it's whatever.**

**Disclaimer: Hussie owns Homestuck. I'm just weaving my own tapestry with his characters~**


	2. Observate

His name is John.

John Egbert.

He's the cousin of your friend Jane.

He can stop the beat.

He's got big blue eyes that are common as dirt, but pretty as the sky all the same. Dark brown, almost black hair that sticks up in some places and swoops down in others. Square, non-nondescript glasses, a straight nose, average lips, and buckteeth that although, unsubtle, don't totally ruin his appearance.

But even though he's just an average looking guy, there's a magnetism about him, something inanely likeable, something that

stops the beat.

That scares you. That pisses you off. That makes you relieved.

You calm yourself. Settle on anger. Force your beat to be one of strife.

You make yourself mad. Make yourself stay. Even though deep down you're confused as a mofo and really just want to abscond the fuck outta here and figure the shit out of your thoughts.

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><p><strong>AN: Flash fiction on this one, but it's an outlier. The chapters will, in general, be around 600-1,000 words. R&R~**


	3. The Park: Where real G's hang

**A/N: What do you think of my characters? Do you like their personalities? I'd really like, in particular, to hear about John, because he's honestly one of my favorites to write.**

**R&R~**

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><p>Ya'll are eating lunch together. Ya'll as in you, Jade, Rose, and the new addition, John. You kinda want to skiv off and eat with your other friends, Gamz and Tav, maybe drop some ill rhymes, smoke a joint or something, so you can calm the fuck down.<p>

But they're eating with the other trolls today, and Karkat is someone you're just not in the mood to deal with. He's probably still pissed from last period, when you drew a penis on every page of his notebook after he left to use the bathroom.

_Every. Last. Page._

And fuck if it wasn't worth spending half the class in the administrator's office after Karkles started screaming. Good times, good times.

'We're actually cousins.' Rose is saying. You jerk and give her a sharp look (By which you mean you go the most minute of twitches as your face remains impassive.) You're hella startled, but you guess John must've asked about how similar you and rose are (She's just a bit less blonde, with no freckles and lavender eyes)

John nods as if this makes sense, and Jade sort of frowns, but tries not to , because she hadn't actually known the two of you were related, and she's annoyed that she's finding out about this so late in the friendship game. Or so you think. What really goes on in that green-eyed girl's head is as mysterious as her exotic, island beat, singing sweetly of ancient times.

'Cousins huh?' John says, just because he's the type to let a conversation meander wherever the fuck it wants, weavin' like it's drunker than a skunk that's been hangin with Rose's mom.

'Yeah. My uncle fucked her mom. That's how cousins are made. Would you like a dictionary definition?'

Oh God. Why can't you _Shut the Fuck Up_. It's like someone pressed a button that said ==**Be the Asshole.**

You think it's the rift in the beat, the degradation of such a huge part of your existence, that's unraveling your mind and making shit pour outta your mouth like you were some reverse toilet.

Rose is pissed and a fair bit concerned, and she's giving you that small upturned lip of distaste like she's wondering if you're on drugs. Jade just sorta blinks and looks confused. She knows you're not this huge of a douche either. John, well, you don't know fuck about what he's thinking behind that shit-eating grin.

'No need to be a douche,' he says to you, and damn if his voice doesn't sap at the rhythm of your heart as well.

'Well,' and your tone is neutral on top but nasty at the core, with the type of pitch that sounds like an ice-cube with a drop of rancid blood at the center.

'Hot _Damnnn_ if you're not a real estate agent _John_. Looks like you're trying to get me interested in some prime residential suite way up on Butler Island. A nice fuckin beach house, where I get nothin but served all day every day while I try to recover from the sick burns you gave me with that last insult.'

Wow. Even you must admit that your douche-baggery is currently reaching towards levels of critical mass. But you can't find it in yourself to feel sorry, not when he's distorting the beat around him, swirling it like some kind of freakin tornado.

And now Jade looks pissed as well, because after all, this is her cousin. Her _ra-ta-tat-a-tat _suddenly shoots out towards you like a bullet. You don't have to look at Rose to feel the _GrimDarkness_ of her slow, sticky song roil in lavender waves of anger.

John remains cool under pressure.

'Wow, big metaphor for a big boy. Sure you're not overcompensating for something?'

He's keeping shit casual as the sharp side of a knife.

You don't respond other than by making a sound in the back of your throat. Damn him for catching you on one of your off days, when your head is stuffed with cotton and someone (The prick right in front of you) keeps _jigglin_ the player.

Jade sighs, although you can tell she's still pissed as hell at you.

'So I'm going to assume that was some weird alpha male shit and move this conversation along.'

(And Gog, Harley doesn't curse for no reason, so she really must be fired up)

She then proceeds to ask John about their family in Washington, with Rose joining in politely from time to time.

You just pop on your Beats (Honestly, they're not that great, although the bass is insane), and listen to something that's all rhythm. Something dubstep and inhuman, with a shitload of bass and implied violence. None of that Skrillex shit for you this time, nu-uh, you go straight to Excision, Subsonic indeed, and after that it's Lil Wayne, then more dubstep, then more rap.

You call yourself taking beat therapy, and after lunch you walk out of school and spend the rest of the day riding the bus around town and listening to your music. Telling yourself over and over that the girls don't hate you

(And if they did, you don't know if you'd try so hard to get them back because lately friends have been more trouble than they're worth)

(..Liar. They're worth every second.)

and trying not to think about John.


	4. HerpADerp

**A/N: Next chappie we get back to Dave acting surreal as fuck! And yeah, the updates are going to be pretty quick because I'm writing like, 5 or 6 chapters in one day. It's nice to do things in advance :)**

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><p>The first time you see him, you know he's a douche.<p>

He's got in these weird pointy anime shades that completely cover his eyes, even though you're inside. His hair is Draco-Malfoy pale, and he's white as a sheet, although there is a small band of blonde-white freckles trooping across the bridge of his nose.

For some reason, you know he's watching you. His head hasn't turned an inch since you've walking in, but you can feel his awareness reaching out, smothering you, trying to listen to your secrets. You frown a bit and unconsciously push him back.

And then you forget all about him as people introduce themselves to you, because you've always been pretty approachable.

You have first period with a girl named Vriska, and another named Kanaya. Vriska seems to like you, which worries a few people, while Kanaya thinks you're a bit slow.

You have fun with them anyway, poking fun at Vriska's sloppy fashion and Kanaya's lumberjack hipster swag. Kanaya is also the first black hipster you've ever met, and you tell her as much. She looks as if she can't tell whether she should be offended or confused.

Second period rolls around, and that class is kinda a wash because everyone has already migrated to their groups of friends and there's not really a place for you to squeeze in. You settle reading a book about paranormal activity (What? Were you actually supposed to _learn _ in class? Preposterous.)

It's health anyway.

Then comes lunch.

'Deadliest catch is a pretty good show, if you're into Alaskan crab fishing.'

'Jade, who is honestly into Alaskan crab fishing. That's a pretty specific thing to like.'

Jade giggles as she walks you to her table and towards her friends.

There's Shades boy, and a pretty girl with blonde hair and bluish lavender eyes sitting beside him.

You sit down, get your introductions on, and proceed to argue with Shades, who you learn is Dave. He's taken an inexplicable dislike to you, and after you two get into it there's an awkward silence for a few seconds before Jade heavily changes the subject.

Dave the Douche, as you've christened him, remains silent for the rest of lunch, something you think everybody's grateful for, and the rest of lunch passes without a hitch.

In third period, you meet Karkat, a Mexican kid with volume control and anger issues that you find strangely endearing. He shows you his defaced notebook, and your prankster's gambit gives a reluctant thumbs up to Dave.

'And that _pendejo_ is supposed to be in this fucking class too. He's skipping again, the fucking nooksniffer.' You blink, because sometimes Karkat makes up his own swears, and even though you don't quite know what they mean you still find them amusing.

You also meet Gamzee, who you dislike and find vaguely unsettling. He's high as the sky, but there's something in his faded eyes that says you don't want to be around him sober.

You're walking through the halls to fourth period, and they're stuffed with people and green lockers and so much _noise_ that you start to grit your teeth.

Then you start flushing. Then comes the cold sweat. And the progression is leading up to something you know _very_ well, because you've been having panic attacks since you were 13.

Mentally, you're about to flip you shit, because you've never done well with crowds, and you just give a big _push_, and shove through the people until you see a bathroom.

People are still swarming, and you don't think you're going to make it before you start hyperventillating, but then the crowd starts heading in the other direction, likely towards a fight. Things calm down just enough for you to slip through, and into the bathroom.

After you fibnally calm down, you have to wash the sweat off of your face, and you hope the cold constrict your blood vessels, because your cheeks are flushed, like you've been running a marathon.

You look at yourself in the mirror. Cornflower blue eyes, buck teeth, messy black hair; you look like a normal teenage boy. Not one who hates crowds and loud noises, who prefers graveyards with their silences and ghosts, who would rather watch Con Air than Project X. Your favorite sound is probably that of a dry wind blowing down an empty street, and it's one you yearn to hear right now.

But that's not possible. So after 15 minutes, you just trudge on to fourth period, and the teacher gives you a break because it's your first day. You slide in beside Rose on the bench.

'You really got lost for that long?' She sounds nonchalant, but you think she suspects a deeper layer to the story.

You nod the affirmative, wanting to let it drop. But she's still analyzing you, taking in your appearance and narrowing her eyes like she thinks there's more to the story. You decide to play dumb; it's one of the things you do best.

'Yeah. I went to the wrong classroom for like fifteen minutes before I figured out it was Beginning Chemistry, not Advanced. Guess the kid who gave me directions assumed I was a Freshman. I ran the whole way here.'

You give Rose a derpy grin, and she backs off. Because she honestly believes that you sat in the wrong class for fifteen minutes before figuring it out.

You'll admit that you're not the sharpest tool in the box, but sometimes you're annoyed at how easy it is for people to believe you are the dullest.


End file.
